


Bruises

by 401



Series: Fixing Winter [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Blood, Bruises, Bucky Barnes Feels, Guilt, M/M, Rough Sex, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-21
Updated: 2015-07-21
Packaged: 2018-04-10 11:18:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4389815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky leaves the Captain a little worse for wear after sex, but it sends him into guilt and turmoil. He, as everyone always had, takes it out on himself. Self-harm mention and description.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bruises

**Author's Note:**

> If self harm triggers you, please don't read it.

Bucky’s teeth ached with the force at which his head connected with the tiles of the shower. He pulled back and delivered another blow, grunting through locked teeth at the pain. He let the fingers of his metal hand start to bruise the flesh of his right thigh. He squeezed as hard as he could, the organised spots of blood appeared.

 _Rationalise._ Steve’s voice rung in his aching head, but the helpful voice was replaced by the image that had driven him to this point in the first place. Steve’s back and shoulders, the tops of his arms littered with fingerprint bruises. Across the backs of his thighs there were thick red scratches were Bucky had pulled him closer. He had heard Steve protest only once, a breathy and close _“Easy, Buck,”_ into his shoulder, both so slow with pleasure and proximity to orgasm that Bucky had not listened and Steve had not cared. He had just been grateful for the feeling of Bucky’s hands, metal and flesh, pulling him closer. As Steve had delivered thrust after thrust, all Bucky wanted was to hold and grab all he could reach. Now, with all the thrill and lack of judgment gone, Bucky was kneeling in the bathtub, the shower running ice cold down his back, finding any means he could to dissolve his guilt, anything that would hurt more than what he had done to Steve.

Bucky shut off the shower, suddenly aware of the amount of time he’d been in the bathroom. He rubbed his raw, aching body with a towel, so hard the skin on his knee and elbows peeled slightly. He breathed deep and shaky as he pulled on a long sleeve t-shirt with holes in the cuffs that he could slip his thumbs through. He had bought it (the first piece of clothing he had chosen himself) with the purpose of hiding his metal arm in public. Now he was using it to hide the marks on the flesh one. Sweatpants next. He wiped the mingling streaks of blood trailing from the five crescent shaped gouges in his right thigh with toilet tissue before pulling up the dark blue jogging bottoms carefully, feeling the sting as the fabric brushed the cuts.

 _You fucking deserve it,_ he thought to himself frowning and biting his tongue. He stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. En suites did not give you much time to compose yourself before you had to face people.

Steve was lying where Bucky had left him, on his front, face buried in the pillow. The sheets were pulled up just above his ass but were thin enough that there was no hiding the shape of the rounded muscle. Then there was his back. Steve had not noticed, obviously. That comforted and terrified Bucky; he would have to tell him. He wished that Steve had been lying on his back.

“Hey,” Steve greeted, lifting his head up and smiling sleepily at Bucky, lips still pink from rough kisses. Bucky smiled back, tense with anticipation and sat next to Steve on the bed.

Steve pulled Bucky down toward him, kissing him deep and slow. Bucky could taste himself on Steve’s mouth and it made him want to cry. Steve’s hands trailed down Bucky’s ribs and settled on his crotch, pressing temptingly hard through the sweatpants. Bucky mentally burned his arousal to the ground. _You are not allowed to enjoy this you sick fuck!_ His mind was pulsing with an onslaught of insults he wished someone was screaming at him. He wanted Steve to be mad, not kissing him like he had done something right.

“You up for round two, babe?” Steve breathed against Bucky’s neck.

 _No, no, NO!!_ Bucky mentally screamed, locked in more heated kisses. He wanted to shout that they could never do this again, run away and leave Steve’s life forever, protect his with his absence.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Steve coaxed, trying to lift the top Bucky was wearing over his head. Bucky pulled it back down so hard the bottom hem stretched out of shape a little.

“What is it?” Steve pulled away, instantly serious with concern.

Bucky opened his mouth. Nothing, nothing of any use anyway. Just a tense, dry croak. How did he put this?

“I…don’t wanna’ go again,” He settled with.

Steve frowned. If there was one thing Bucky could not do, even as an assassin, it was lie. His bottom lip tucked under his top one and he would stare low, his dark eyelashes hitting his cheek like a shield. It was obvious to Steve, he had studied that face too much over the years to miss it.

“We don’t have to go again,” Steve said, “You  _do_ have to tell me the truth.”

Bucky sucked in a breath.

“Have you seen your back?” Bucky’s voice lost integrity, shaking as he spoke.

Steve frowned again, reaching behind himself awkwardly. He ran his hand as best he could over the smooth skin. It was a little tender, a bit like sunburn and he could feel the doughy patches that were obviously bruised. He lowered his hands to the backs of his thighs. There were raised lines in the skin.

“The scratches and stuff?” Steve confirmed. Bucky nodded, looking very hard at anything but Steve’s face.

“Sweetheart, when I started sleeping with a man with a cybernetic arm that can tear apart cars, I kind of expected this.” Steve seemed so calm, unbothered. Bucky searched desperately for something on the Captain’s face that was indicative of any pain or anger.

“I didn’t even notice, Buck,” Steve continued, seeing Bucky was not calm, “Plus, I heal like you, remember.”

 

Bucky froze, instantly aware of the throbbing burn in his thigh. He forgot about his own meltdown. He healed fast, but not fast enough to cover himself up until it was all gone. Steve took his flesh hand and pulled it towards his. Bucky winced. Steve noticed.

“Did that hurt?” Steve asked, stroking Bucky’s arm.

Bucky sighed and nodded.

“I felt bad, I felt really bad. I saw your back and…it’s all my fault, I’m too fucking dangerous, Steve,” Bucky’s breathing was coming hot and fast now, “I didn’t know how else to feel better I just, I just lost it and I wanted to feel as bad as I thought you did…” Bucky stopped, anger and impending tears tightening his throat.

Steve slowly and calmly pulled up the sleeve of Bucky’s t-shirt, revealing the marks and cuts carved in by the metal hand. They were deeper than his own, much deeper.

“They’re on my thighs too,” Bucky admitted hoarsely. Steve nodded, looking down. There were little brown crescents of blood on Bucky’s sweats.

Steve pulled Bucky forward into warm, strong arms.

“Never again,” He muttered, “Please never do that to yourself again.”

Steve rubbed slow and heavy hands up and down Bucky’s back. Steve found it hard to imagine hurting any part of Bucky, even though he had been forced to that time on the helicarrier.

“I’m sorry, I broke,” Bucky whispered, his lips brushing against Steve’s neck.

He knew that Steve forgave him, he always did, but Bucky could not help his anger. It was hard to feel like anything but the weapon that Hydra had made him, when it looked like everything he touched burned to the ground.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> comments are wonderful!


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